Footing
by bleeping-bleep
Summary: Lysandra wakes up one evening to find that her childhood has breezed past her, whisked away by the birth of a long-awaited cousin. The tides of change are tumultuous, but she finds an unlikely constant in a King with a penchant for coming back. Edmund/OC


**Disclaimer**: The Chronicles of Narnia series does not belong to bleeping-bleep or any of the two girls writing **fan-fiction** for it under the same name. Only Lysandra belongs to bleeping-bleep, and even then her character is inspired from the world created by C.S. Lewis.

SO, first fic of the account gets claimed by bleep, otherwise known as Elis! bleeping is Senna, who loves Narnia but Elis pores over the books every half year and the moves every month so she gets creepy dibs on the story. Please tell us what you think, because we enjoy reading feedback. :)

And before we forget to mention, this story occurs generally in the movie-verse, though some elements of the book may be added. One of those elements will not be the character's ages, since they will be portrayed as they were in the movie. We actually don't know how old they were in the movies, but we can't believe Edmund was only 11 in the movie, or Caspian 13. So we're taking liberties with that here: since this story begins from the Prince Caspian movie, **Caspian** and** Peter** are 18, **Susan** is 17, **Edmund** is 16, **Lysandra** is 14, and **Lucy** is 12.

* * *

**Footing**

**Chapter 1: Fallout**

There is a moment in every person's life when the world they know comes to an end, when the ice breaks and the glass shatters and one falls to his knees, stunned to the point of thinking it unreal, only to catch his breath and realize that it is all but a dream.

For Lysandra, it was when her father died. Her mother had passed away not many years after her birth, so the loss wasn't as heavy for her as it was for her older brother, but her father she had known consciously and loved. The afternoon right after he was found no longer breathing – he died in his sleep, they said – the wake was rushed and lasted three days for the kingdom to see, and then her uncle Miraz was crowned Lord Protector while her brother, crown prince Caspian, was still too young to rule.

Lysandra didn't mind her Uncle Miraz much. He had sent away their royal Nurse when they were younger and replaced him with a Tutor who continued their governess's stories of the ways of old Narnia (in secret, she and Caspian promised), but he allowed her to roam the castle and do what she wished more often than not, paying her as little mind as a bull to one of the many fleas on its back.

The only time he had ever acted with anything resembling hostility towards her was whenever his wife, Aunt Prunaprismia, a woman less of a mother figure than their old Nurse, was with child. The woman would strut around the castle, head held high, and regarded the two siblings with only disdain before leaving them be, her thick tresses swishing behind her back. Her pregnancies only ever ended in miscarriage, of course, and once the unborn child was gone, Uncle Miraz would return to kindly tolerating her presence, and all would be right in the castle again.

In the last nine months, however, Aunt Prunaprismia had managed to keep the child in her belly alive (and kicking quite viciously, her Tutor said to had heard), a feat seemingly celebrated by Uncle Miraz by giving her and Caspian darker and darker looks each day. Her brother never noticed or gave no indication of caring, much too caught up with their nightly excursions to care, but she could tell that her uncle's disposition towards them was in a steady decline. This was only better proven when General Glozelle seemed completely ill at ease as they sparred one day at the courtyard.

"Hyah!" Lysandra deflected his sword with a thrust and a loud cry and made for his unguarded shoulder.

General Glozelle knew her technique well, however, and his shoulder was a sort of feint that he used to bring her closer, close enough for him to parry her sword and counter to the side with a spin, sending her sword out of her hands. Glozelle swung at her feet; Lysandra jumped high.

When he went for her head, she ducked and charged him, but barely made him stumble. Lysandra dropped and swung a foot at his, causing him to fall on his belly. As he moved to stand, she raced for her blade a few paces from where she stood, only to have the sharp tip of his sword pointing right at her nose when she turned to face him.

There was something intense in General Glozelle's eyes, and trouble riddled his usually pleasant countenance. Their breathing was ragged from the rush of fighting, but his was heavy, like there was a centaur on his shoulders where there used to be, well, a faun. He moved his arm so that the sword touched her nose.

"General Glozelle," said Lysandra, her eyes focusing on the tip of his sword (a sight that would have been laughable to him on any other day, which only increased her suspicions), "I've lost, I understand…!"

Glozelle blinked and lowered his sword, looking upon Lysandra as though he hadn't known she was there. "Your Majesty," he said, catching his breath, "forgive me, I was…elsewhere."

Lysandra touched her nose, reassuring herself that all of it was still there. "General, is something bothering you?"

"Ah." He looked behind her, black curls unruly as he ran his hand through them. There was definitely something. "Nothing, Your Majesty. As with the rest of the kingdom, I am only anxious of Lady Prunaprismia's health. And her child's." His eyes met hers when he said the last bit, and the way they bore into her made Lysandra wonder if she was supposed to come to some sort of epiphany.

She brushed it off when she could think of nothing. "I see. I wonder how Aunt will deal with another heartbreak. It's pitiful sometimes," said Lysandra. She had never gotten along much with her aunt, but losing the life she bore for so many months was pain she wouldn't wish on anyone.

Glozelle shook his head. "Your uncle and aunt have great hope, Your Majesty. They may yet have their first child."

He had such a grim look on his face. Lysandra couldn't understand why. "Yes, well, we all hope for the best."

"Yes…" General Glozelle appeared distant again, his gaze now extending past her, eyes seeming to glare as he bowed. "That is all for today, Your Majesty. Good work."

"But General—" Lysandra called after him. Her protests fell on deaf ears, if being deaf and feigning it were the same thing, and General Glozelle disappeared from the gray courtyard as though there were wolves after him.

"Princess Lysandra."

Lysandra spun around, slowly tucking her sword in its sheathe in an attempt to show no surprise. "Aunt Prunaprismia." The woman's belly was so large and round. It was tempting to touch it and see whether it was the airy or opaque sort of full. "You should be resting in your chambers. Uncle Miraz is already worried enough, I think."

"The walk will do my child good," Prunaprismia replied, two ladies in waiting supporting her by the elbows.

If Lysandra hadn't possessed a general aversion to her aunt, she might have found her stance laughable: her stomach was so heavy, it seemed, that she was forced into a quarter of a squat, her hips thrust forward and her back tilted slightly. The woman looked a bit foolish standing around and walking, but Lysandra could do nothing if she thought it would help her unborn son. "Oh, I see."

It dawned on Prunaprismia that she hadn't needed to explain herself to her husband's niece and put on a ghost of a sour face. A ghost of it, because she was the type of woman who never showed her nasty side except to those she intended to be particularly nasty to. It wasn't that she disliked Caspian and his sister; it was that they disliked her. What had really caused their relationship to sour was the type of situation when one thinks the other doesn't find them in good taste and so finds them disliking that other person, and vice-versa, without any of them actually possessing a real reason to feel animosity.

"Sparring again?" asked the Lord Protector's wife, taking the conversation where she had wanted it to go. Prunaprismia didn't like the thought of a young adolescent holding more power over her; no adult did, especially when that girl was of true royal blood. "I told Lord Miraz to forbid you to take sword lessons. A young lady should learn to be a lady, not a soldier. You and Prince Caspian should have different tutors."

"King Nain of Archenland has women serving in his army," Lysandra said quietly, controlling her growing irritation for the woman's attempt at interfering with her lessons. Normally she might speak unhindered of how she had no right, but she didn't want to upset the pregnant woman. "Uncle Miraz has Doctor Cornelius teach me the higher knowledges because he plans for me to be an ambassador, one who needs little protection."

Prunaprismia huffed, hiding her embarrassment with nonchalance. Her husband hadn't informed her of those plans. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Aunt Prunaprismia," Lysandra replied perfunctorily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to meet Caspian in the stables. We're riding out to the fields for some early lunch before our lessons today."

Prunaprismia nodded and gave a difficult, reluctant curtsy with her ladies-in-waiting. "Good day, princess."

Caspian was waiting outside the stables with Destrier, his steed, and Jennet, her own. When Lysandra arrived, out of breath and slowing into a brisk walk, he grinned.

"You're late, Lys."

Caspian was eighteen years old, four years Lysandra's senior, and depending on his mood he either acted his age or he didn't. Those who knew their parents said they were the exact replicas of them: both siblings had their mother's thin lips and dark chocolate hair as well as their father's umber eyes and apple cheeks, the only difference between the two being that Caspian had dimples and a cleft chin where Lysandra was gifted with none.

Those who expected the brother and sister to be just like their father and mother, respectively, however, were to be doused with disappointment as soon as they conversed with them. Caspian had inherited his mother's affability, meekness and optimism while Lysandra had taken their father's habit of speaking his mind and being, sometimes unabashedly, to the point.

Lysandra took Jennet's reins with a snort. "I bumped into Aunt Prunaprismia on the way. She was telling me about how a lady—"

"Should learn to be a lady, not a soldier," Caspian finished for her with the same mocking tone and laughed. "I know, she has said this to me before. As though I could persuade you otherwise!"

The prince lifted himself to his horse with the grace of a truly trained horseman and chuckled at his sister's attempts to swing up as perfectly as he did. "You should have more riding lessons, Lys, instead of always running off and swimming so close to the old forest. I don't know why Uncle lets you do it."

Had they been older and Caspian not so trusting, they would have realized that Miraz hadn't cared if the princess drowned or got lost in the forest. She wasn't poised to receive the throne like Caspian, after all, and with the way she seemed to tilt towards battling as eagerly as her father, he doubted she wouldn't have wanted the work even if she was. "Well, at least I know how to ford a river."

"But you'll never be able to use that past our lands," said Caspian.

"When you're king, Caspian, you'll lift the ban from the old forest and we'll go out to sea," said Lys, hopefully. "Promise me we'll go out to sea. I want to explore the world past the castle and the fields surrounding us. There is so much out there we don't know. Like – like the world of the kings and queens of old, that land of Spare Oom, like in the stories—"

Jennet gave a loud whinny and a stomp to the ground, silencing his rider before her brother could. Caspian shot Lysandra an urgent look. "Quiet, Lys. The last time one of us mentioned the old stories around the castle without being on the watchtower—"

"You had our Nurse sent away. I remember," said Lysandra.

Caspian frowned. She didn't have to say it that way.

"All right, I'm sorry, Cas," said Lysandra, noting the upset expression on her older brother's face, and raised her palms in surrender. "You said this would be a good week, wouldn't it? Let's not start it with a fight. I say we enjoy our lunch and return barely in time for politics."

Caspian's smile returned. "Yes, barely, so that Dr. Cornelius spends more time lecturing us on the punctuality of the royals of old and branches into history instead of the intended lesson… Very good, Lys."

The princess shrugged. "You concocted the idea when we were children, not me. You're the mastermind."

"I suppose I am if you say so," said Caspian, grinning with healthy mirth, and raised a picnic basket with his free arm. "So I presume this lunch is all mine…until you catch me?"

"Until…? Hey!"

Caspian pulled the reins on Destrier and turned, riding out to the gates and signaling for the drawbridge to be let down. "Think of this as a riding lesson, Lys! Go as fast as you can!"

"Come back! Lysandra called, digging her heels into Jennet. "Cheater!"

* * *

For Caspian, who had already known the loss of a beloved parent and whose glass had already begun to shatter with their mother's death long before their father's, it was when Dr. Cornelius woke him that very night.

The sound of Prunaprismia's screaming as she heaved a final push and her child's first wail of life reached not Lysandra's ears, but from her room, the princess could hear the town crier announcing, "A son! Lady Prunaprismia has this night given Lord Miraz a son!"

Lysandra's eyes shot open. Sighing, she turned over in bed, lifting a hand to clamp over her ears, only to spot a cloaked figure through the velvet drapes of her canopy bed soundlessly breaking into her room. The covers fell to the floor as she kicked them off, jumping off in her nightgown and rushing for her sword sheathe on the wall beside her, but it was gone. And then the figure, short and plump, unhooded itself and revealed the anxious visage of Dr. Cornelius.

"Doctor Cornelius, you didn't say we would—"

"Shh!" Cornelius put his index finger to his lips, whispering, "Come, princess! We must wake Lord Caspian."

"I don't think we can go to the watchtower tonight," Lys whispered in return. "Aunt Prunaprismia has given birth. Everyone at the castle is awake, or waking."

Cornelius shook his head and led Lysandra to her closet. "Your lives are in great danger. Change into your riding trousers while I wake the prince. Hurry!"

Lysandra obeyed, removing her nightgown as soon as her Tutor exited her room through the door connecting Caspian's chambers and hers. She was a third asleep, but Cornelius's words and her new cousin's arrival kept her eyes wide open. Moments later, Cornelius returned with Caspian in tow. Her brother barely noticed her, still focused on peeking into his room, from where she could hear the clinking of metal and a familiar voice.

Curiously, she positioned herself under Caspian and followed his example of looking into his room through the crack in the door. Soldiers bearing crossbows circled the prince's bed, at whose foot General Glozelle stood. When he gave the order, they fired.

Their gasps were barely silenced by Cornelius tugging them along, out of Lysandra's room down a small, narrow staircase rarely used because of its size.

"They killed you," Lysandra stuttered out as they raced downward, clutching each other by the hand. "They killed you, Cas!"

"A-Almost," Caspian breathed. "Why would General Glozelle—?"

"Not Glozelle, _Miraz_," Cornelius said, fumbling to open the door. "And you would have been next, milady. He won't have an angry girl seeking to avenge her brother's death."

Glozelle's disposition that morning made sense to Lysandra now. Had this always been their uncle's plan?

Outside was tranquil, a stadium for crickets, and Lysandra already felt worlds away from the attempted assassination, but the sight of their equipment on Destrier and Jennet set her thoughts back on Miraz.

"You must make for the woods," said Cornelius, assisting her onto Jennet and handing Caspian his sword.

"The woods?" asked Caspian, still rubbing his eyes awake.

"They won't follow you there," their Tutor explained. "Now…it has taken me many years to find this…"

Cornelius reached into his robe and in his hands there was a bone-colored length of a curve, a horn with a lion poised to roar at its mouth: the symbol of Narnia's Golden Age. Caspian and Lysandra had no trouble figuring out what it was. Cornelius took Caspian's hand and enclosed it in the prince's fist. "Do not use it except at your greatest need."

Caspian and his sister exchanged worried glances. Lysandra took Cornelius's hand. "Doctor, will we ever see you again?"

"I dearly hope so, Your Majesty," said the half-Dwarf. "There is so much more I meant to tell you."

Caspian tightened his sword to his hip. "Doctor—"

Suddenly his heartbeat quickened, pounding dangerously in his ears, until he realized that it wasn't his heart but the sound of horse hooves thundering against the ground.

Cornelius backed into the door after giving their horses a painful slap. "Go!"

"Hyah!" Caspian and Lysandra raced to the gate, leaning so far forward on their horses they might have fallen off.

It was hard to believe that the guards who had warmly welcomed them home that noon after their picnic were now barring their escape, attempting to roll up the drawbridge and arrest them. As though they understood the plight of their masters, Destrier and Jennet drove on faster, leaping over the humans who had come to frighten them. They escaped the castle by a hairline, the gate crashing behind them as they went, but at least seven horsemen had been able to follow them.

A barrage of colors exploded in the sky behind the castle, celebrating the birth of Miraz and Prunaprismia's son, and already Caspian knew – the way Lys did not when their father died – that everything was about to change.

"Don't look back, Lysandra," Caspian ordered, knowing it would break his young sister's heart all over again to see that the very man who had taught them to fight was hunting them down, shouting orders for their capture to his men.

Lysandra obeyed and, with she and Jennet lighter than Caspian and Destrier, led the way into the turbulent river skirting the wood. The water grew deeper with every push, and soon Glozelle and his men were right on their tails.

Urging Jennet up the bank and out of the water, Lysandra called out, "Hurry, Cas!"

"Go, Lys!" Caspian shouted back, struggling through with his steed. He had never brought Destrier to swim as Lysandra often did Jennet, so they had no experience in these parts. "Run!"

"I'm not leaving you here!"

Caspian glanced back and saw Glozelle at his heels, but gave his sister an encouraging smile. "I'm a better rider than you, Lys. I will catch up. Go!"

Whether Lysandra would go or not mattered no longer. Jennet understood the panic suffocating his masters and turned for the dark wood, whose tall trees and thick branches made it near impossible for the moon to serve its purpose. After a while they could no longer hear the river, and all that was left was the sound of thistles pounded and crushed beneath Jennet's hooves and their breathing, rider and steed, plowing through the thickets for a haven unknown.

All the trees looked the same, and soon thoughts of the ghost stories she had heard as a child resurfaced in Lysandra's mind, as well as Dr. Cornelius's tales of the old Narnians. She didn't know what to believe, what to fear or to expect. Was Caspian riding behind her, or had they already captured him? Should she turn back?

Lysandra couldn't have, even if she wanted to, because Jennet tripped over a rope trap and suddenly she was flying through the trees, hurtling like an ungraceful pebble from a crudely crafted sling, until a tree bark made impact with her body. Sinking to the ground, she thought of the pain in her shoulder, Jennet, and Caspian, but her last thought was of fear, of the figure of a man's torso connected to the body of a horse, and then her eyes closed.

* * *

Like her brother, Lysandra was accustomed to change. Their father's death had ensured that, as well as the subsequent constant ups and downs of their uncle's demeanor towards them. All new things take some getting used to, however, and when a princess who has slept in beautiful beds and soft mattresses with handmaidens at the ready all her life wakes up on uneven pebbles and thick blades of grass and lumps of soil and generally the uneven ground of a forest glen, groaning is known to be quite common.

Lysandra's eyes opened to a clump of pine trees, tall and narrow and sunlit with flowers sprouting around the bases, lifting a natural, fragrant smell to her nose that she had never quite taken in at full force before. The sun was powerful enough to glean into the wood here, and provided a harsh yet comforting light to the young girl whose presence had caused a stir in the forest's inhabitants.

The princess knew nothing of this, however, and felt only the bandage around her shoulder and chest as thought it would help her remember the reason why she was not being awakened by a handmaid for breakfast with Caspian. At the thought of her brother, the previous night's events returned in uneven waves, like particles of sand washing up on shore – not that she knew of the beauty of the sea past pictures that would never do it justice. The fireworks and horses, the crossbows, Dr. Cornelius, and the towncrier. Prunaprismia and Miraz.

She had little time to allow the thought of her Uncle plotting to kill his own brother's children to sink in. Her mind was so occupied with her brother that if she had reached for him in her heart any further, they might have been able to communicate. The bandage gave little indication of whether it had been placed there by Caspian or not, but her sword was gone, and her boots, too. She was in hostile territory.

"She's awake! The daughter of Eve is awake!" she heard a high-pitched little voice announce, and immediately after there were horses riding in from all sides, only they were not horses but glorious centaurs, swords at the ready, and they looked upon her with distrust and contempt.

"Old Narnians," Lysandra breathed in astonishment.

"The last of us left, thanks to your lot," said a rumbling voice in the back. It was a minotaur.

"I didn't want any of this to happen," said the girl. "I'm only fourteen."

"Yet you live upon the spoils of the land that was once ours," said a centaur at the head of the pack. His goatee was a dark bronze and his upper torso like lead. Unlike Glozelle's dark beard. Or her Uncle's. He frowned and continued, "Telmarine."

Lysandra could not argue that point.

"What is your purpose here?" said a female centaur. He face was hardened. "Come to take more of our land? To hunt down the last of our kind?"

"No, no!" Lysandra protested. "I'm a fugitive – no, that isn't right – my Uncle, Miraz. I'm Princess Lysandra. He tried to have my brother Caspian and I killed when his wife gave birth to an heir for himself – we narrowly escaped – or, I did. I'm not sure my brother survived."

"Miraz?" the large centaur repeated, ignoring her rambling. "Then we possess a common enemy. Princess, was it? If your brother is the new Caspian…"

"He should be, but with my Uncle in pursuit of us, it's hard to tell how long we are to survive."

A squirrel, larger than usual, scurried into the clearing. "News, friends! Trumpkin has been kidnapped, but Trufflehunter and Nikabrik have found a Telmarine, calls himself Caspian!"

"Caspian," Lysandra uttered in relief. "He's alive."

"Hmm." The goateed centaur rubbed his chin, horse hooves kicking thoughtfully. "Prince and princess on the run from a treacherous uncle."

The two centaurs who had spoken exchanged glances. Asked the female, "Glenstorm. Do you think it a chance?"

"It may very well be," said Glenstorm, the male. He turned his eyes to a branch somewhere above him. "Pattertwig?"

The squirrel, perched curiously, nodded his tiny head. "Yes?" Lysandra realized it was the being that hard earlier announced her presence.

"Call the rest. We will have a council of war tonight."

"A council of war?" Lysandra repeated. "Why?"

"Miraz attempted to murder you and your brother, the rightful heir to Narnia's throne, though stolen by your ancestors it may be." Glenstorm watched her as though the answer was painfully obvious. "Is it not revenge you seek?"

After some thought, the princess realized he was correct, Up until now, Caspian had plagued her thoughts, and worry, her heart. She had always wondered why Caspian wasn't crowned king upon his eighteenth birthday when the reason their Uncle Miraz had stated for declaring himself Lord Protector was that Caspian was still a child.

How fortuitous for their wicked Uncle that he was borne a child before they had begun to question his real motives. Lysandra had been so content with being tolerated that the thought of Narnia's true king never crossed her mind. And maybe it was for the better; who knew if her uncle would have had her assassinated beforehand just for wondering out loud?

But her brother was safe now, and the old Narnians, the magical Creatures and Talking Beasts were real and alive, and there was a chance to set things right.

Glenstorm saw that glint in her eye, the desire for justice – or blood. "Yes."

"Then you'll wage a war against Miraz?" asked Lysandra. "How many remaining Narnians are there? My uncle wields a powerful army and is close friends and allies with the Tisroc of Calormen. Archenland is generally neutral, but Miraz is persuasive… Frightening, even, when he must be."

"Thus the council," said Glenstorm. "My sons and I would fight for your cause, but we require the rest of the Wood, the rest of old Narnia, to truly win this war. Perhaps you would convince them, princess."

"Oh, no." Lysandra backed away instinctively, until her palm pressed against a small pebble and she yelped foolishly. "I've never been skilled at public speaking. Caspian should do it – he's the rightful king, after all."

"Very well," said Glenstorm, and the centaurs decided that Lysandra was no threat to them. The princess wondered if she should find offense, but kept her mouth shut when they returned her blade and her boots and introduced her to Glenstorm's family. There were his sons, Ironhoof, Rainstone, and Suncloud, and his wife, Windmane, the hardened centauress. Her animosity towards Lysandra reminded the princess of her aunt, though she could understand Windmane's displeasure at having her.

Who was she, after all, to trespass into their homes and expect kindness? Then again, Lysandra hadn't expected them to even be alive; at least, not this many of them. And to risk so much death in a war, all on the sudden arrival of the crown prince and his sister? But the Old Narnians must know best, Lysandra figured, having lived for many years and she for only fourteen, and in any case, Glenstorm had already called for the war council and there was nothing to be done but have the caucus.

Jennet had been captured as well, but was contentedly nibbling on apples he was given. Tied against a nearby tree, he was sitting obediently when Lysandra found him.

"You little traitor, Jennet," said the princess, coming down upon her horse with a frown, but even then she fondly laid herself against his thick neck. "You didn't even look for me!"

Jennet leaned into her embrace, but after a few minutes gave her a passing whinny, as though she was interrupting his apple time.

"Actually, princess, he gave us a very difficult time until we offered him apples," said Rainstone, Glenstorm's second son. He had dark brown eyes and the charm of his father's rare smile, and when he trotted over to them his chestnut horse tail swished with his lively gait.

Lysandra smiled and then slapped Jennet's back playfully. "To think I'd be deserted for a basketful of apples!"

Rainstone chuckled. "In his defense, they are very good apples."

"Well, that explains everything," said Lysandra, crossing her arms playfully, genuine mirth filling her features until she remembered all that had occurred the night previous and sighed, arms falling back on Jennet.

Rainstone watched her carefully. Given the circumstances, he could sense her unease. "We will take back Narnia, princess," he said, flopping down on his horse legs close to her. "Rest assured."

"I know," she replied, stroking Jennet's smooth mane to keep calm. "I think I do. I'm only bothered. Uncle Miraz knew us our entire lives – and yet all he cared for was the throne. It all makes sense now, his demeanor whenever his wife was pregnant, his barely tolerating my existence and my brother's. My father was a good man. I wonder how he could have had a brother such as _Miraz_."

"Surely Miraz loved him as a child," said Rainstone. "But sons of Adam change oft as they grow, as you will. As your father did."

"You knew my father?"

"I've lived a good many years," said Rainstone with a wink. "Almost a century. Caspian IX ceased the hunting for our kind later in his life and set about searching for us in order to return the peace of the old days, for he grew weary of hostility and had come to believe in the Narnian way. We did not reveal ourselves for fear of a trap, and perhaps that was a mistake. We might have been able to protect you from Miraz's attempts without forcing you to flee."

"Oh…" Lysandra remembered her father all of a sudden, and as she loved him even the better, she missed him all the more. Tears stung her eyes. "I miss my father…"

For all his nearly a century of living, Rainstone had never seen a daughter of Eve cry. It irritated him that he could do nothing to aid her (centaurs didn't quite know the concept of embraces). To his great fortune, he didn't need to.

"Lys," said a young man's voice from far ahead of them. He was tall for a young son of Adam, with wavy hair that mirrored the princess's, and tanned skin, apple cheeks, and eyes that boasted of their heritage. As though he could sense her tears, Caspian barely walked before he broke into a sprint and reached his sister.

Caspian became everything to Lysandra when their father died. She depended on him for nearly everything – fights, reprimands, comfort, guidance he himself needed – and having his arms around her now made her feel safe again. The centaurs had been kind, of course, but she had felt somewhat stranded until that moment when she could hear Caspian's heartbeat against her temple.

"What happened to you, Cas?" asked Lysandra when they pulled apart.

"I was knocked off Destrier when I failed to duck before a branch," answered Caspian, appearing very sheepish now.

The look Lysandra gave him said he was right to. "A branch? A _branch_ defeated the mighty prince Caspian?"

Caspian made a face at her. "Well, how did you end up here? Surely you did not set out into the forest with the centaurs in mind."

"I…"

Rainstone felt it was finally time to speak. Standing, he bowed before Caspian. "The princess's horse had his leg caught in a trap I set for the Telmarines. She, too, was knocked off her steed, and we found her."

Lysandra looked at him. "So it was your trap?"

Rainstone smiled without guilt. "Yes, and it is for this reason that it is my duty to care for your needs."

"I have you to thank, then, for finding my sister before anything else found her," said Caspian, returning his bow. He explained to his sister, "There are many Old Narnians who would see us dead, Lys, only because of what we are. I am thankful the centaurs found you and not anyone more hostile."

"I would watch out for my mother," Rainstone informed them quietly. "Her father she lost to your great grandfather."

"Thank you for the warning," said Caspian, and, upon realizing something from the centaur's words, said rather gingerly, "I can take care of my sister now. Thank you, er…"

"Rainstone," Lysandra answered for him. "One of Lord Glenstorm's sons."

"Ah. Thank you, Rainstone."

"My pleasure, prince." The centaur didn't understand Caspian's sudden protectiveness over his sister, but he was aware of it and decided to trot away before the son of Adam became upset. As evidenced by Lysandra's behavior, after all, sons of Adam and daughters of Eve were quite fickle.

When Rainstone was gone, Lysandra turned to her brother. "Cas, Lord Glenstorm has called for a war council."

"Trufflehunter told me," said Caspian, and noting her confusion, he added, "A Talking Badger who saved me along with two Dwarfs – Nikabrik and Trumpkin. But the latter was captured by Miraz's men – I have not had the chance to formally meet him. But can you believe it, Lys? We're amongst the Old Narnians. The myths, the stories – they're all true. And this _haunted _Wood? It's beautiful."

Lysandra agreed, but worriedly squeezed her brother's hands. "Lord Glenstorm expects you to change the minds of the Old Narnians, Cas. I'm worried. This is all so exciting for us, but all they see are the Telmarines who have taken their homes and the lives of their families. What if—?"

"It's going to be all right, Lys," said Caspian, embracing his sister once more. She had always been prone to excess worrying, and this always soothed her nerves. That wasn't to say that he wasn't anxious himself, but he was confident that as long as there were creatures like Glenstorm and Talking Beasts like Trufflehunter and Reepicheep, then there was hope for peace yet.

And speaking of the swashbuckling mouse, small steps alerted them of his presence. "Your Majesties," said a noble voice, "Rainstone requests your presence to dine with us for lunch."

As Caspian turned around, Lysandra spotted the fallow mouse, the strap of a tiny sheathe slung over his little body and the handle of a small rapier peeking out. On his ear, there was a golden ring and a red feather attached to it. Caspian recognized the 'o' shape formed by his sister's lips and the soft expression on her face – she was about to coo. "Lys—"

"Hello there," said Lysandra, resisting the urge to grab the mouse and squeeze his plump little body only because it would be rude to do such a thing to something else that could talk, "you're a mouse."

Reepicheep sighed.

* * *

Lysandra was doing her best not to hold Caspian's hand. They were at the Dancing Lawn, now, where countless Magical Creatures and Talking Beasts had gathered for the council. Lysandra lifted her head and took a sweeping glance – fauns, satyrs, minotaurs, bears, dwarfs, tigers, giants, foxes – beings of myth as Caspian had stated, all shaking their fists and waving their swords and bows at them hatefully.

Even if she had been deaf and unable to hear their jeers and calls for her death and her brother's, the bitterness on their faces would have caused her to hang her head anyway. Rainstone was among the crowd because his father believed that the humans would be better received if they spoke for themselves instead of being spoken for, and she would have been comforted by his encouraging nod had his mother not stood right beside him, meeting her gaze with a frightening sneer.

Lysandra wanted desperately to grab her brother's hand, but their Uncle Miraz had taught them never to show weakness before anyone who might be hostile towards them, as it would only encourage their opponents.

But Caspian had long forgotten anything that might show reverence to their uncle and grabbed Lysandra's hand himself as he, too, realized that they were surrounded by angry Old Narnians. Lysandra clutched him like a lifeline and watched her older brother straighten his back and open his mouth. He was ready to speak, now, if they would only let him. How was it that he could find the courage to? However did he manage to appear so brave and confident even when he held her hand, and in the face of so much loathing?

"Telmarines!"

"Liars!"

"Kill them!"

"Murderers!"

Lysandra spotted Nikabrik, the Black Dwarf who'd found Caspian with Trufflehunter the Badger, curl his lip angrily. "All this horn proves is that they've stolen yet another thing from us!"

"We didn't steal anything!" Lysandra accumulated enough of nerve she had been known for to shout back at least to him. He had spent time with Caspian; he must have known that he wasn't like their ancestors or her uncle.

"Didn't steal anything?" a Minotaur replied. "Shall we list the things the Telmarines _haven't_ taken?"

"Our homes!" Windmane cried. "Our freedom! Our lives!"

It was cacophonous to Lysandra, and she could feel a throbbing gathering in her right temple. Her back was beginning to ache from the task of standing and bearing it all, but thought of her brother's ready stance and emulated it as best as she could. Finally, Caspian spoke. "You would hold us accountable for the crimes of our people?"

Nikabrik shouted, "Accountable – and punishable!"

"Hah!" Reepicheep, rapier in hand, stepped out of the crowd and came closer to the siblings to meet Nikabrik, his soft voice a comfort to Lysandra already. That's rich coming from you, dwarf. Or have you forgotten that it was _your_ people who fought alongside the White Witch?"

Nikabrik turned Reepicheep's sword away easily with his hand. "And I'd gladly do it again, if it would rid us of these barbarians!"

"Then it's lucky that it's not in your power to bring her back," said Trufflehunter, nearing them, too. Lysandra wanted to embrace him and thank him for his support, but knowing it would only undermine his efforts to defend them, decided to keep firmer in her features and stare back at the Narnians bravely like Caspian. If she would ever become an ambassador, she'd have to learn this.

Trufflehunter continued, ignoring the sudden uproar from the others. "Or are you suggesting that we ask this boy to go against Aslan now? Some of you may have forgotten, but we badgers remember well that Narnia was never right except for when a son of Adam or a daughter of Eve was king or queen."

Nikabrik scoffed. "They're Telmarines! Why would we want them as our king or queen?"

"Because we can help you," Caspian said before the Narnians could rise up in agreement. Lysandra was beginning to hear them argue amongst themselves about whether they would listen to her brother or not – it was a start. As he continued, he looked around, meeting the eyes of each and every Narnian he could see, and Lysandra saw that already they appeared curious, some even intimidated.

Her brother really was made to be king. "Beyond these woods, I am a prince – my sister, a princess. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine! Help us claim it, and we can bring peace between us all."

"It is true," said Glenstorm, deciding that the prince had spoken enough for himself and his sister. Rainstone smiled; after those words and his father's support, they would listen. "The time is ripe. I watch the skies for it is mine to watch as it is yours to remember, badger. Tarva, the lord of victory, and Alambil, the lady of peace, have come together in the high heavens." His gaze fell on Caspian and Lysandra. "And now here, a son of Adam and a daughter of Eve have come forth to offer us back our freedom."

There was a scuffling in the trees, and out into one of the branches above Glenstorm, Pattertwig appeared. His head was bowed a bit and his shoulders raised, as he had never participated in a council before, but he was born curious and never had his curiosity egged him on as much as it did now. "Is this possible?" he asked so suddenly that some barely heard past a squeaking. "Do you really think there could be peace? Do you? I mean – I mean, really?

Caspian and Lysandra glanced at each other and nodded before the former said to the rest, "Yesterday, I barely even believed in the existence of Talking Beasts, or dwarfs, or centaurs. Yet here you are in strength and numbers that we Telmarines could never have imagined!" The momentum in Caspian's voice rose, and Lysandra could feel the hairs on the back of her neck follow.

Judging by the widening eyes of those in the crowd, she could tell that they were starting to believe in him, too. The prince raised Susan's horn, and no one took it against him when they saw his fist shaking. "Whether this horn is magic or not, it brought us together. And together, we have a chance to take back what is ours."

Glenstorm had already made up his mind when his second son brought the princess to them. When he saw the confused furrow of his wife's eyebrows, that sudden uncertainty in her own hatred, he was sure. He took his sword from its sheathe and raised it to Caspian. His three sons and his wife followed without hesitation. "If you will lead us, then my sons and I offer you our swords."

Reepicheep's rapier shone in the moonlight. "And we offer you our lives – unreservedly."

Just like his father, Rainstone had a history of being right, and that wasn't about to change soon. One by one, the Narnians raised their weapons to Caspian and Lysandra with their heads bowed. The two could only look on in amazement, and Lysandra choked out what she and her brother were thinking.

"Thank you."

* * *

Edmund was suddenly the level-headed one.

To be honest, he didn't like it. He hadn't been an ass since he realized that Jadis was really the White Witch – and in his defense, he hadn't been more of an ass than Rabadash – but it wasn't in his nature to be the peacekeeper, the one stopping everyone from attacking each other, the voice of reason. He was King Edmund the Just. He just was, in a sense.

Peter had always been the leader, Susan the logical one, Lucy the firm believer, and now he found he was tasked to be all of them at the same time. Not that Peter would allow him to lead alone, obviously, but his older brother was being a bit too stubborn today and if he had been any more anxious, Edmund would have had to take the reins himself.

A few hours ago, they had just finished crossing the gorge he still remembered from a thousand years ago as a rushing river, full of life, and were now setting up camp in the first clearing they had found because Susan was extremely tired and her feet ached. (He'd tried to lighten the mood by saying she had become a bit too _gentle_, didn't she think, but that fell flat and she returned his attempt at a quip with a scathing look he would rather not see again.)

She was lying down beside Lucy now, hair buried in the tufts of grass that nested everything in the woods, from the trees to the rocks to the small body of Trumpkin, the Red Dwarf they saved from a pair of Telmarine soldiers at the river that noon. He sat contemplatively against a tree, watching them as though still deciding on whether Edmund and his siblings existed or not.

Peter was tending to the fire since he'd collected the logs, so Edmund was free to approach their Dear Little Friend (as Susan and Lucy had aptly named him, to his chagrin) and disturb him. The young King sighed contentedly as he sat. It'd been hours since they rested.

"So…" Edmund picked at a leaf near his foot. "What's this Prince Caspian like? You said you met him, didn't you?"

Trumpkin looked decidedly sardonic, but then he always seemed to, if the entire day was anything to go by. "Wasn't much of a meeting. I saw him briefly before I was captured."

"And what was he like in that brief moment?"

Edmund didn't think the dwarf's facial expression could have gotten any worse, but he had been wrong many times. Trumpkin replied, his disappointment bare. "Clueless. And then unconscious when Nikabrik dragged him into Trufflehunter's."

"Oh." And then he thought to laugh. It seemed like sixteen years, but in England it had only been a moment. "Well, have hope. I wasn't much of a King when I first arrived in Narnia, either."

Trumpkin took another confused look at Edmund. "And you really think you can just swoop in and liberate Narnia?"

Edmund was, at the very least, sympathetic to Trumpkin's disbelief. When he had first seen the still trees of the wood and encountered the bear that nearly mauled Lucy, he was disheartened himself. It wasn't Trumpkin's fault that this hiding and hostility was all he had ever known, but Edmund knew that there was something better and they could bring that back to Narnia, if they could only find Aslan… He smiled at Trumpkin with a shrug. "Why not? It wouldn't be the first time."

Trumpkin was tempted to smile, to propagate the hope he'd felt after he lost a sword match to this same boy, but he restrained himself and shook his head, turning his attention to the fire the High King had built. "You lot certainly remember your victories well."

"We're Magnificent, Gentle, Just, and Valiant and not Modest for a reason, you know."

"I see that now," said Trumpkin, but not without humor. His next question was serious, however. "And you really think Aslan's still here?"

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Aslan," Edmund answered, suddenly very far away. He was back in Aslan's camp, meeting his brother and sisters for the first time since his betrayal. He'd expected Peter to say something prickish, but for once he felt like they were brothers when he forgave him and they set out to eat, right before they decided to fulfill the prophecy Mr. and Mrs. Beaver had mentioned. He missed the Golden days terribly.

"Your Majesty?"

"Ah, yeah," Edmund muttered, returning to Trumpkin almost reluctantly. "Don't think about it too much. We'll find Caspian, round up the Old Narnians, and see what happens from there. There's always hope."

Trumpkin stood. That was enough for one day. He didn't want to be overwhelmed with false hope. "Pray you're right."

Peter approached him as Trumpkin went to take his place around the bonfire. "What was that about?"

Edmund waved it off. "Just conversation."

"Didn't look like it ended too pleasantly," Peter ignored his brother's aloofness and sighed. "There's a lot of work to be done to restore Narnia to its former glory. We've a lot to do, Ed." The High King began to walk past Edmund and into the unexplored part of this new wood.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "It's dangerous, remember? The maps in our heads are outdated."

Peter shot him an odd look, his eyebrows narrowing with some displeasure at having to explain such a simple action. "I'm just going to get more firewood, Ed. Really, sometimes I wonder if you're not mum in disguise."

Edmund replayed that in his head long after the crunching of leaves signaled Peter's departure. Oh, so he was mum now, too, was he?

He hoped things would return to the way they were soon.


End file.
